Please Don't, Sue
by grammar conscious possum
Summary: Complete at last and on reciept of my 20 or more reviews, Pottersues was released back into the wild. And yes, Sues always get their comeuppance, though you may have to wait a long time to see it! Sequel now in progress.
1. The Big, Scary Cameo

Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katarina bint Esmonde cried out as a sharp pain racked her body, from her beautiful raven cerulean hair to her delicately formed toes. Attempting to sit up, she found that her hands and feet had been bound with white silken ropes, and the sapphire-amethyst ring that her great-aunt Miranda, the famous Seer, had bequeathed to her upon her thirteenth birthday was poking her in the back.

A tall, hooded and menacing figure strode purposefully into her field of vision. Through clouded but still breathtakingly enchanting azure and cinnamon eyes, she beheld the narrowed, snake-like visage of ... no ... it couldn't be! Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katarina gasped a fetching gasp.

"_Dissendium_," said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand her restraints disappeared.

Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katarina sat up and gracefully began to rub the circulation back into her aching wrists. Holding her head high, she faced He Who Must Not Be Named and said proudly, "Torture me – kill me – do with me as you will, but I will never use my unsurpassed Seer ability to help the Dark Side, nor will I surrender to you the secret of how to do wandless magic." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see several other hooded figures step forward into the circle of bright light.

Voldemort laughed - a high-pitched, castrato, counter-tenor laugh. "Wandless magic," he sneered. "Tell me, what does the Dark Lord, who is all-powerful, need with schoolgirl tricks?" He laughed again, and the Death Eaters joined in politely.

"Schoolgirl tricks??" cried the prisoner angrily. "How dare you speak such a way of my family's precious traditions-"

"_Crucio_!" declaimed Voldemort, and Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katarina slumped over, writhing in pain once more. The Death Eaters again laughed politely, until a glare from Voldemort prompted them to bring the volume up a notch. A few started clapping.

"No," said the Dark Lord, pacing around the girl, who was panting in a ladylike manner. "You are not here for me to extract your secrets and then throw your broken (though delightful) carcass to my pet vultures. Nor are you here for me to torture as a recreational activity – tempting though that might be, impertinent young thing. In fact, I have brought you here at the behest of one to whom I owe a debt of gratitude and wish to honour." A hooded figure that Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katarina had not seen before glided out of the shadows and stood next to Voldemort.

"My friend," said the Dark Lord proudly, "accept this humble gift. May the sweet taste of revenge whet your appetite for more evil-doing and general loathsomeness." Handing her a business card which read _"Unable to sate your appetite for evil-doing and general loathsomeness? Join the Death-Eaters, today! Call 1800 – AVADAKEDAVRA. Office hours only"_, he stepped back.

"How did I find myself in this position?" thought the young woman, biting her lip in apprehensiveness as the strange figure stepped into the centre of the ring. "All I did was stop to help that injured pony as I was going to the station to catch the Hogwarts Express – "

Her anxious musings were cut short at the gasp from the assembled Death Eaters, as the mysterious figure lowered her hood.

"You!" accused Naedine etc.

"Yes," replied pottersues calmly, and then ruined the effect with a burst of maniacal laughter. "Too long have I stood aside, a mere observer and commentator, as you – you _foul creatures_ – ruin everything I love about fanfiction, with your purple prose, your rape of the one true HP canon, your unrealistic assets and talents! Therefore I've decided to take matters into my own hands, and get some physical revenge, rather than virtual! And my good friend here" (Voldemort saluted) "has agreed to help me. I think you know what this means, don't you?"

"No," gasped NGSK. "You couldn't! You wouldn't! Besides, you're a Muggle!"

"That's where Voldie here comes in," said pottersues smoothly. "Sic her!"

"_Sarcasmium_!" shouted He Who Must Not Be Named. A beam of purple light hit their prisoner straight in the navel. As she lost consciousness, Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katarina bint Esmonde prayed to whatever deity might be listening, that she would die rather than suffer the fate that awaited her.

"Anything but that – "

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Disclaimer: I think it must be fairly obvious after 100,000 fanfics that JK Rowling doesn't object to people using her characters (besides, the legal fees would wipe out her large fortune should she decide to sue _all_ of 'em). However, I certainly don't own pottersues, and I hope she doesn't decide to ... erm, sue me.


	2. A New Character Is Introduced

Harry put his trunk down on Platform 9 ¾ and sat on it, looking around for any sign of Ron or Hermione. Although the Hogwarts Express stood puffing gently at the platform, with half an hour left to wait he didn't feel like being on the train with the Slytherins, especially with the sun beating down outside.

Ernie Macmillan and a couple of other Hufflepuffs waved to him as they passed by, heavily laden with trunks and owls, and climbed aboard. There wasn't another Gryffindor in sight, apart from Parvati Patil, who had already boarded, and sat gossiping with her twin sister at the window nearest to Harry. And two compartments down, Draco Malfoy and his two henchmen were trying to attract Harry's attention with the use of obscene gestures and loud comments.

Harry turned his back on them and scratched Hedwig between the wings through the bars of her cage. For the first time he noticed that Professor Sprout was waiting on the Platform, looking very tanned, and with her was what looked like a large badger wrapped in beach towels. Harry took another look, and realised that it was in fact a squat, furry-looking person.

The Professor noticed Harry, and bustled over to greet him, dragging the odd creature along by the hand. "HARRY good to see you, good to see you," she said hurriedly. "Had a nice summer? Excellent, excellent... would you mind keeping our new transfer student company for a moment, while I go and make sure the driver's got my Shrieking Geranium properly stowed... there's a good boy..." Before Harry had a chance to make any sort of reply, he found himself alone with the ... student.

"Erm... hello," he started. "I'm Harry Potter... so you're a transfer student? From America, I suppose?" he said, suppressing a sigh.

"Basingstoke," it replied – from the length of its lank, mousy hair, Harry decided it was female. "Doris Sue Ethel Mildred Shrub, but most people just call me Doris Sue Ethel." She extended a grubby hand.

Harry gingerly shook it, as the Slytherin's window burst open, and Pansy Parkinson stuck her head out. "Hey, Happy Dopey Sleepy Loopy Grumpy!" she shouted. "What's your _middle_ name? Ha, ha ha!"

"It's Gladys," said the new girl mournfully.

"Well... let's get on the train then," said Harry, hurriedly. Waiting for Ron out here in the open with this strange character didn't seem to be such a good option. "Got any luggage?"

"Nope," she replied, hitching up some of her layers of robes to allow perambulation as far as the train. She turned around. "You know, it's funny... I don't seem to remember ever having had luggage. Or what I was doing in Basingstoke. There's no magic school there, is there? And come to think of it, does Hogwarts even take transfer students?"

"Don't think so," replied Harry, gritting his teeth and promising to give Professor Sprout an earful for dumping on him a charge who was not only eccentrically dressed, but confused as well. "There's some Hufflepuffs... that's Hannah Abbot there, look... I expect you'll be in their house," he said hopefully as they passed the first compartment. However this was full up to the brim with luggage and people, and furthermore Hufflepuffs MacMillan and Abbot were making emphatic No gestures through the glass. "SHE'S BARMY," mouthed Ernie.

"Erm... I guess you're with me then," stated Harry lamely. To his relief he spotted Ron and Hermione boarding at the other end, and practically ran down the train to get into their compartment. There was no time to explain the peculiar situation before the new student caught up with them.

"Ron – Hermione – this is Doris Sue Ethel," introduced Harry. There were more handshakes. Hermione gave him an odd look, but politely asked, "So what school are you coming from, then... er, Doris?"

"Haven't a clue," replied the new girl, "and it's Doris Sue Ethel." She peeled off several layers of outer clothing, and the atmosphere in the compartment took on a certain aura of sweaty feet. Harry unobtrusively opened a window.

"So, then, Doris Sue Ethel, game of Exploding Snap?" offered Ron, as the train began to move.

Doris Sue Ethel rolled up her sleeves to reveal pale hairy arms. "You're on."

Ron, Neville and Ginny watched in astonishment as the now-eyebrowless exchange student drained the entire cauldron of pumpkin juice in one long swallow, while Harry and Hermione had a private conference behind Hedwig's cage.

"Can we get Luna to take her off our hands?" hissed Harry over the chorus of "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!"

"Doubt it," said Hermione gloomily. "She's FAR too eccentric for Luna. Well... she might be sorted into another house..."

Sure enough, that evening in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat shouted out "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Well," said Harry disgustedly, leaning over to Hermione amid the desultory applause, "it could be worse. She has to sleep in _your_ dormitory."

A/N: Thank you to both my lovely reviewers (as of the time this is posted). Well, Lizai, how ever did you guess? (Apologies for the predictability!) Don't worry, you haven't heard the last of Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katerina! You can't kill a Sue that easy!


	3. Certain Articles Get Malfoy and Lavender...

Hogwarts life resumed once more, and 1995(b) promised to be just as hectic and enjoyable as 1995. The fifth years were rushed off their fifth-year feet, and amid all the hustle and bustle the new girl in their midst was hardly noticed at all.

At first the girls in Hermione's dormitory did have a few problems adjusting to living with their new roommate. For someone who had brought no luggage, she had a considerable tendency to scatter her possessions about the floor. And, naturally, she snored. However, once a few strings had been pulled to get a house-elf permanently assigned to their dormitory and the girls had all acquired earplugs, life was running smoothly once more.

Harry couldn't believe the amount of homework fifth years got, which was surprising as he had completed fifth year once before, in the Order of the Phoenix. After sacrificing several night's sleep in his first week to finishing essays and practicing wand movements, he was not best pleased to be woken up at seven o'clock on his first Saturday morning. By Argus Filch, no less.

"Up you get," he roared, dragging off bedclothes and scaring the living daylights out of Dean Thomas. He looked around him with a satisfied air. "Oh, today's the day, my friends. Umbridge may be gone, but Educational Decree number 77 is still around, due to a beaurocratic loophole, oh yes." He poured the jug of water into Neville's bed. "UP! Get out and wait in the common room!"

Unwilling, but too tired to consider staying in any room with a gleeful Filch in it, Harry and Ron trooped downstairs, wrapped in their quilts, to find the rest of Gryffindor house yawning and grousing. Hermione was the only one with enough wits about her to check the bulletin board, and so was the first to find the notice announcing Confiscation Day.

"Folks," she said fatalistically, "if anybody's got anything to hide, well... it's too late to hide it now."

There was a rush to the board, and a general outcry as the Gryffindors realised that by that point all their contraband had been seized – with no advance warning, as the sign had been covered up by the Gobstones Club agenda.

At this point, a smirking Argus Filch and a couple of house-elves emerged from the stairwell, heavily laden. After they had disappeared through the portrait hole, the administering of retribution to the unfortunate Gobstone Secretary was interrupted only by the arrival of a Slytherin seventh-year prefect, who pinned another note to the bulletin board, then pushed her way out through the crowd with her nose in the air.

This note, in Albus Dumbledore's flowery hand, read simply "The following students may come to the Great Hall at half past nine to retrieve their confiscated property. AD." Hermione scanned the list.

"Well, you're on it, of course, Harry... Seamus, Dean... must be those Fred and George novelties they bought over the summer. Lemme see... Ron's not on it, but Lavender is." A squeal came from the audience, and Hermione turned her head to see the distraught girl running upstairs back to her dorm, followed by Parvati. "Lavender – wait – I'm sure you won't get in trouble..."

"Wonder what she's got?" said Harry to Ron, staring.

"Must be that poster of Justin Timberlake," said Hermione, still scanning the note. "He's been enchanted to remove his shirt and put it back on again, on, off, on, off... totally harmless, but it comes under the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, of course... hope they don't get Mr Weasley down here. Ravenclaws... nobody we know... hey, Draco Malfoy's been nabbed!"

"What for?" asked Ron, peering over her shoulder. Most of the others had lost interest and crawled back upstairs to their beds.

"Doesn't say here. Probably something related to the Dark Arts; practically the whole Slytherin Year's down there for something or other. Well, you might find out when you go to get your stuff, eh Harry?"

Far, far away, Justin Timberlake's tour manager looked on in horror and concern as the teen heartthrob removed his shirt again. "I can't stop, make it stop," sobbed Justin, pulling it back on over his head. "It's been days! Somebody help... why won't you help me??"

Harry, washed and dressed, took a ticket – number 44 - and joined the long, long queue of disgruntled students that led from the Great Hall. A couple of First Year girls in front of him were sobbing in each other's arms, while in the queue behind two Hufflepuff Seventh Years were indignantly going through a thick Ministry of Magic publication on illegal and controlled substances. As he watched, a Ravenclaw he vaguely recognised rushed past with half a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky and a scarlet face.

Though Harry was worried for the safety of his invisibility cloak and Marauder's Map, he was somewhat reassured when Professor McGonagall strode out of the Hall and adressed the assembled masses.

"Under Educational Decree 77, Argus Filch in his position as Caretaker is indeed entitled to search your rooms for illegal or proscribed objects." Filch, who had followed her out, seemed unreasonably pleased, but the crowd's reaction to this statement was not a positive one.

Shushing them, she continued. "However, as Hogwarts considers _all_ Educational Decrees passed during Dolores Umbridge's residence here to be obsolete, your possessions – any that are not concerned with the Dark Arts - will be returned to you." As she turned on her heel and strode toward the staff-room, cheering and applause broke out in her wake. Filch, who had been present for the announcement, went an odd shade of purple, emitted several loud squeaks, and ran after her.

As the queue began to dissipate, Harry found himself inside the Great Hall, where he was able to see Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey, locating objects from the large stacks assembled there and returning them to their respective owners. As he watched Madame Pomfrey gingerly hand over a large basin of grey, steaming goo to a small Ravenclaw girl, he noticed to his surprise that Draco Malfoy, looking surly, was the next in line.

"There you are, Amanda," said Madame Pomfrey, looking revolted. "I realise it's all in the interests of scientific experimentation, of course... but do make sure you wear your dragon-hide gloves when you're working with it, and try not to spill ANY, you know what it does to surfaces. And you've added quite enough Stinksap. Come see me when it's ready, and we'll discuss testing." She crossed "Number 41: Amanda Buckett - Unidentified (Possibly Harmful) Potion" off her list, as the small girl hurried away, and turned, looking disapproving, to her next candidate. "Mr Malfoy."

Draco looked, if possible, even more annoyed as she retrieved a magazine from the back of the pile. "Yes, it's porn all right," she said, passing it under one of the more obscure silvery instruments from Dumbledore's office and reading the sticker it printed out. The members of the queue who were within visual range snickered, and Harry could hear the word being passed back to those who couldn't see. He grinned as Draco's face turned an interesting shade of red. "Measures 7.41 on the pornograph." She slapped the sticker on to the front cover of the magazine (titled _Wenches_) concealing some of the cover girl's astonishing attributes, but not her beckoning hands. "Professor – I believe the standard lecture is in order?"

Dumbledore, who had been wandering around, not paying much attention to the proceeding, now skipped over cheerfully as Draco Malfoy snatched his property and rolled it up in an attept to conceal it.

"Indeed, Mr Malfoy," he said jovially, placing a fatherly arm around his shoulders, "there comes a time when it becomes necessary for a young wizard to give some thought to the birds and the bees. Speaking of bees, did you notice those giant killer bees Hagrid's been breeding?" Draco mutely shook his head, eyes wide.

"Size of your fist!" Dumbledore continued. "If one of those things stung you, your limbs would swell up within minutes and you'd have to _roll_ all the way to the infirmary! Ah, splendid chap, Hagrid. He's done excellent things with pumpkins. I reckon he'll win us a couple of prizes at the wizarding division of the Chelsea Flower Show this year. Well, if that's all... run along there, Mr Malfoy, run along, and remember what I said!" Humming, he settled himself down in an easy chair and flicked through a copy of _Sugar_ that Filch had confiscated by mistake.

Draco, looking confused, backed out the door and ran off in the direction of the Slytherin dormitory, to a chorus of pointing and laughing from the remaining students in the queue.

After some dubious items of toiletry were returned to the first year girls ("Now, you know you can't use the Dark Arts to change the size of your ears, girls, it's very dangerous"), Harry stepped up and was given back his Invisibilty Cloak and Marauder's Map with a minimum of fuss.

He heard Dumbledore say to an unamused Madame Pomfrey, "There's an excellent article in here about lip gloss, Poppy," as he gleefully headed out the door back towards Gryffindor Tower.


	4. Late Night RoundUp With Lee and Angelina

Lee Jordan settled into his comfortable pinstriped armchair by the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, yawned and stretched, and said cheerfully, "So what do you think of the writing so far, then, Angelina?"

Angelina Johnson, in the chair opposite him, said doubtfully, "We-ell... it's had its moments, I grant you. But there's some fishy work going on with this new girl. And what was the deal with that last chapter, huh? I think it was just an excuse for the author to have a good laugh at Draco's expense."

Lee Jordan shuffled through some notes. (He and Angelina had sportingly agreed to return to Hogwarts for another year for the sake of this piece of fiction, even though it meant repeating their NEWTs. Fred and George Weasley had not been able to return due to the pressures of their new business; however they had very generously sent the large plate of jam doughnuts that lay on the table between Lee and Angelina.)

"Ah, the Confiscation incident – yes, it says here that the author had always wanted to be able to say '7.34 on the pornograph'. Well, we won't hold that against her, will we – after all, it's sure to have some relevance later on in the story."

Angelina glanced up at the bulletin board. _Wenches_ magazine was pinned up, and the cover girl was still winking and smiling, though her face had been changed to Draco's. "Well, we can thank that chapter for our new piece of interior decoration at least," she said. "Another doughnut?"

Lee took a particularly jammy one, and said thickly, "Fill in our readers on what's been happening since Chapter 3, Angie."

"It's been a typical Hogwarts Christmas term, so far," she said, "asides from the Confiscating. The teachers aren't taking pity on us as far as homework goes – some poor fifth years have been pulling all-nighters in the attempt to get it all done." She glanced over at a table in the corner, where a lone student sat, scribbling feverishly. "Weather's been awful, but Quidditch training's been going on as per usual – I have to say the team have been real troopers about it. First match is on Saturday – Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw – hope you'll all be there!"

"And as for our main characters – well, I have to admit the situation with them is looking interesting, wouldn't you say?" broke in Lee. Angelina nodded enthusiastically. "Understandably, what with them being pretty stressed out, plus the rather anti-social behaviour of the new lass, there's all kinds of conflict. Doris Sue Ethel – have I got that right? – she's a bit of a thorn in Harry's side. Hermione's trying to smooth things down between them, but after she beat Harry at arm-wrestling _again_ –"

"Beat _all_ the Gryffindor blokes, you mean, and Michael Corner from Ravenclaw," interrupted Angelina, grinning.

"Yes, and don't I know it, I could hardly write the next day. Well, she's got a bit of a cult following going – Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom seem to find her interesting – not to mention Ron seems to be infatuated with her – that's a funny one, eh? But apart from that she's not too well liked hereabouts. The Gryffindors seem to think she's letting the side down."

"Well, she's got a very eccentric dress sense, and some personal hygiene issues," started Angelina. "The Slytherins make comments... although they always do." She ticked off the points on her fingers. "She's extremely tactless – had Eloise Midgen crying in the toilets for three hours the other day. Definitely speaks before she thinks. Then, she's not the most emotionally stable person – cries buckets at the slightest unintentional criticism, but inclined to hysterical laughter as well. In Potions, of all places, although surprisingly she's rather good at Potions."

"And her table manners leave something to be desired, I'm told," said Lee, doodling on his scratchpad. "I suppose I can see where they're coming from. She's an odd mixture, all right. Yes, it'll be interesting to see how this turns out. What do you think, Lizai?" he said, twisting around to look over his chair.

"What?" snapped the student in the corner, lifting her head from the parchment. She blinked several times. "Oh yeah, really interesting Lee, but I've got to finish this chapter of The Eye of Truth for Snape's Creative Writing class tomorrow, so if you don't mind..."

Lee sat back down. "And while we're on it, we may as well discuss the faculty news!"

Angelina chimed in, "Snape certainly was surprised at his new appointment, having yet again missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position –"

The interview was disrupted as both Lee and Angelina suddenly turned into pandas, and the commentary had to be abandoned in favour of a more conventional writing style.

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A/N: Well, readers, by now you may be aware that I have a habit of drafting people in to my stories to do cameos without requesting their permission beforehand. Bwahahaha! Beware of flaming me, and watch your back or I might write a devastatingly witty critique of your writing skills! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!


	5. Doris Gets A Little OverExcited

Harry came downstairs to breakfast on that Tuesday morning to find everything the same as usual. Ginny, Neville, and Doris Sue Ethel were down one end of the table, with quite a few of the first and second years, building towers out of toast and their dirty dishes and having belching contests. (Doris Sue Ethel was winning.) The other Gryffindors gave them a wide berth, while nearby Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs looked disdainful and made disparaging comments.

Harry took a seat at the opposite end with Ron, who was stirring his porridge absent-mindedly and gazing glassy-eyed at Doris Sue Ethel. "She's really... something, isn't she?" he murmured.

"Yes, she is that," replied Harry, looking over at the girl, who was picking her teeth with the corner of her Ancient Runes homework. "Ron... Ron! Snap out of it! Hermione, get over here. I think Ron needs help," he said as Hermione pulled up a chair and sat down next to them.

Hermione snapped her fingers in front of Ron's dreamy gaze several times without producing so much as a blink. "I don't know what sort of help you think I can give him," she answered. "He's too far gone for that. I suppose..." she mused, "I suppose there is a certain aura of mystery about her."

"A certain aura of the Owlery when the windows have been closed for a week, yes," said Harry. "What's the matter with you lot? The girl is one-hundred-per-cent weird, and she's turned my best friend into an extra from the Night of the Living Dead. I don't care what you say, I think there's something really strange going on here."

"Think about it, Harry," said Hermione. "Nobody knows where she comes from, how she managed to get transferred here, or how she manages to do... that." Cheers and honking noises came from the other end of the table as Doris Sue Ethel pulled another fork out of her nose. "Don't you find it even a little fascinating?"

"True," said Harry. "Well, let's find out then. Hey, Ethel! I mean, you whatsyername! Come over here!"

Doris Sue Ethel plonked herself down opposite Ron, who seemed to have suddenly been struck dumb.

"So, Doris Sue Ethel, we were wondering if you could tell us... you know... a bit about yourself?" asked Hermione.

The girl looked suspicious. "Like what? And it's just Doris now. I got an owl from Mafalda Hopkirk last week warning me about the improper use of excess nomenclature, blah de blah."

"Where'd you go to primary school?" snapped Harry.

She looked blank.

"How about your family? Where did you live?" added Hermione.

"I... really don't know," said Doris, looking like she might cry. "I don't remember anything much before the Hogwarts Express this summer."

"Whysfrcullur," said Ron, and gulped. They all turned to look at him.

"What was that?" asked Doris.

"I think he wants to know what your favourite colour is," said Hermione. "Tell you what, we could ask Professor McGonagall if we could have a look at your student file, I'm sure she wouldn't mind seeing as it's your own information."

Professor McGonagall was fairly confused when Doris asked her if she could check who her parents were, but agreed to let them see the file. She was even more confused after she had fetched up the file from the dungeon archives.

"Mother – N/A. Father – Classified? That's extremely odd. Place of birth – N/A. There's hardly anything in here at all. Dumbledore's listed as your legal guardian, but that doesn't mean much. Whenever somebody leaves a student on the doorstep and high-tails it out of here, that's what we put down. Happens more often than you'd think, too. But I don't think that's how it worked out this time... I seem to remember somebody asking Professor Sprout to see you onto the train as a favour. Well, I'll check with her."

But Professor Sprout didn't know anything more, except that a hooded stranger had come up to her in the Leaky Cauldron when she'd had a few pints of mulled mead. "Said he was an old friend of Dumbledore's, but I can't remember what name he gave," she confessed.

McGonagall tutted. "This is an inexcusable breach of... of something. Hogwarts administration? Anyway, I'll have to talk to Dumbledore about this." The four students took the opportunity to sneak away as she and Professor Sprout started arguing about responsibility.

"Well, that didn't explain much," said Hermione as they came to a halt outside the Transfiguration Department. Ron and Harry shook their heads.

Doris's chin began to wobble. Hermione noticed, and anxiously added, "No – Doris – I'm sure there's a logical explanation – no, please don't cry –"

It was much too late for that, however. All Harry could do as Doris threw herself on his neck and howled loud and long, was stand stiffly and pat her on the back, muttering "There, there," through clenched teeth. It didn't help that Hermione seemed to find something about the situation amusing.

Finally her sobs abated, and Doris released her grip on him. "Sorry 'bout that," she sniffed, and blew her nose loudly on a handful of Harry's robes. "It's just so hard, when you don't know who you are or where you come from..."

"Yes, it must be," said Ron hastily, seeing that she seemed about to start off again. He reached out to pat her on the back, then thought better of it and retrieved his hand, face bright red.

"What have we here?" came the voice of Draco Malfoy. They turned to see a group of Slytherins had entered the corridor. "Crying, are we? Oh, I see, it's a Harry Potter's Official I've Got No Parents Club meeting." He took out a large green silk handkerchief and mimed wiping his eyes. "Can I join? See, I've got no dad... or, wait a second, I _did_ have a dad... before you and your filthy friends got him sent to _Azkaban_!"

"Tough," said Harry, trying to steer Doris away from the crowd. She, however, seemed disinclined to move. "It's hardly my fault if your parents decide shacking up with a bunch of Dementors is a better option than having to share a house with you."

"And I suppose your Mudblood friend here knows how I feel," continued Draco, eyes fixed on Doris. "Or is she a Mudblood? Hell, I don't know... she's a No-blood! Hasn't got any family! Ha! _Foundling_!"

As far as Draco's insults went, this wasn't anything to write home about, Harry decided. Doris, however, didn't agree. Shrieking and flailing, she swooped down on the unfortunate Malfoy before anybody had time to restrain her.

"Holy mother of..." Harry said quietly to himself. The scene was pure, embarrassing chaos. Doris was yelling at Malfoy, beating him to a bloody pulp, and crying long, gasping sobs all at the same time. The Slytherins had mainly slunk off, muttering excuses about having to get to class, except for Crabbe and Goyle, who looked like they should be doing something but didn't know quite what it was. Hermione was trying to calm Doris down, but couldn't get close enough to pull her off the fallen Slytherin. And Ron was cheering Doris on.

"Sssnot _nice_....to say... stuffslikethat....howd _you_likeit....few're a foundling..." moaned Doris, punching Malfoy in the face between phrases.

"Yay! Go Doris, whoo! You show that ferret who's boss!" Ron had been joined by Colin and Dennis Creevey, and a couple of Ravenclaws.

"Now, Doris," began Harry, feeling he ought to do something. "I think that's enough..." He had the uncomfortable feeling that Professor Snape was going to come upon the scene. He had a knack for showing up at moments like this. However, the first teacher to stumble upon the altercation was Madame Hooch.

"WHAT is going on here?" she bellowed, forcing her way through the large crowd of students that had gathered and were now shouting "Go Doris! Go Doris! Go Doris!" She hauled the bloodlust-crazed girl up by one arm and looked down, horrified, at what remained of Draco Malfoy. "What did you _do_ to this poor boy?"

"Garn," said Malfoy weakly, and spat out a tooth.

"Miss, he called her a foundling and a No-blood," piped up Dennis Creevey. The others nodded and seconded him.

"Still that doesn't possibly merit... oh, so you're the... ahh, I see," said Madame Hooch, her voice going from angry to understanding. "Is it true, what he said to you?"

Doris sighed and looked at the floor with a sad expression on her face. "All I ever wanted was to come to Hogwarts," she said, with a little crack in her voice. The effect of this was somewhat spoiled when she turned her head around and snarled "_Tosser_!" at Malfoy's broken body. Madame Hooch, not noticing, wiped away a tear.

"You there! Help me get him to the hospital wing! And ten points from Slytherin! Erm... all right, five," as she saw the extent of Malfoy's injuries. "You there, come up to my office and we'll have a chat about this later, all right?" she said kindly to Doris. "One, two, three – hup! Careful – mind his spine!" They hurried off to the hospital wing.

Meanwhile, the mixed crowd of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors had hoisted Doris onto their shoulders and borne her away in the opposite direction. Harry and Hermione were left alone in the corridor, staring after them in shock.

"Did I really see what I thought I saw?" asked Harry, rubbing his eyes.

"Yep," said Hermione, "I think most of the school saw it. Well, that'll bring her polls up a few points. Did you see that tattoo on her arm, though? I'm sure I've seen something like that before..."

"Forget the tattoo," exclaimed Harry. "Did you see her left hook?"


	6. The Plot Thickens

Ron lay on his stomach in his four-poster bed, writing in his pink My Secret Diary as a storm raged outside. Though regrettably covered in glittery Hippogryphs, he had found by bitter experience that it was the only diary that had a Fred- and George-proof lock.

"_Dear diary_," he began.

You should have seen her beat up Malfoy. She was magnificent! Like an avenging angel. And now everybody knows what I know – she's one hell of a girl. Even Harry admitted he was impressed. Since then there's been people coming up to our table at meals to congratulate her, and I've even spotted her giving a couple of autographs. Plus, the Slytherins are totally disgusted with Malfoy – they're barely speaking to him.

You know, I can't say I've ever felt quite like this about anyone before. Now that I've met Doris I know the way I felt about Fleur Delacour was just a passing thing, a child's fancy. And the love that dares not speak its name... well, I've put that on the back burner for the time being. No, this is the real thing. I just don't know how to tell her. One thing's for sure, though, I have to do it. Can't let your first true love slip through your fingers.

The diary, which was enchanted to respond to phrases like "first true love", spat a shower of pink and silver glitter into Ron's face. He slammed it shut hastily, shoved it under his pillow, and went to wash his face.

As Harry came through the portrait hole after an enlightening game of wizarding Foozball with Ernie MacMillan (Ernie had won, but Harry felt sure he could take him at the rematch), an odd scene met his eyes. The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with people – unusually so even for a sociable Friday evening. The crowd was predominantly female, and more people seemed to be arriving every minute. Doris Sue Ethel was sitting perched on a chair in the centre of the room, with Lavender Brown holding up swatches of cloth next to her face. An entire chemist's shop's worth of cosmetics was piled on a table within easy reach, and the Patil twins were sorting through and fussing over a large pile of donated robes. The onlookers all seemed to be paging through fashion magazines or arguing about the comparative merits of hair straighteners versus curling tongs.

"What's going on?" Harry asked Ron, who had come downstairs straight from the bathroom and was rubbing his hair dry with a towel.

"Apparently they're giving her a makeover," said Ron, whose face was a little pinker than could be attributed to its recent scrubbing. "Seems like there's a lot of interest, too." A loud banging was heard from outside the portrait hole, and when Harry answered it he was very surprised to find Cho Chang and Pansy Parkinson outside.

"What are you doing here?" he said in astonishment.

"We're here to help out," said Cho coolly. She carried a large flowery makeup bag, while Pansy was laden with various frilly robes and a set of eyelash curlers that looked like medieval instruments of torture.

"Yes – but what's _she_ doing here?" Harry couldn't remember ever having seen a Slytherin inside the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Is it so hard to believe that I might just want to do something nice for somebody?" asked Pansy, glaring. Cho pushed past him and went inside, Pansy following with a disdainful sniff. Harry saw Lavender greet them cordially.

Hermione came down the spiral staircase and forced her way through the crowd to hand Parvati a jar. "Here's that Sleekeazy stuff you wanted," she said. "I'd definitely recommend it, although I've heard good things about the new Lockhart range of hair potions too."

As Parvati examined the label critically, Hermione noticed that Doris's sleeves were rolled up and her tattoo was clearly visible. "Well, I think we'll probably go for the plummy coloured lipstick, Doris," Lavender began, but was interrupted by Dean Thomas.

"Plum? She's obviously a Winter, Lavender! What she needs is... hmm, more of a pomegranate sort of colour." As he turned over the pile of makeup and tutted, Hermione edged in for a closer look.

"Interesting tattoo," remarked Padma, following Hermione's gaze. "What is it – three Quidditch balls?"

"Dunno," grunted Doris, trying not to move as Pansy carefully applied electric blue eyeliner. "Don't remember where it came from – owww!"

The answer hit Hermione as Pansy accidentally poked Doris in the eye. All of a sudden, she knew where she had seen that tattoo before. Grabbing her cloak from the hat stand, she said "Gotta go," to Ron and Harry who were standing by the portrait hole, and hopped out.

"Where's she off to in such a hurry?" said Harry bemusedly. He was starting to feel very much out of his depth, with all this girl stuff going on around him.

"Oh, I don't know," said Ron, "_the library_, maybe?"

But Hermione had far more interesting places to be than the library.


	7. And Continues To Thicken

Hermione, satisfied, leaned back in her swivel chair and, for the first time, took a look at her surroundings. When she had first arrived at Hogsmeade's only Internet café she had been far too keyed up with her discovery to have taken a good look around. Plus, it was pretty exciting to be allowed out unsupervised on a Friday evening – McGonagall had taken some persuading, but being Hermione Granger had its bonuses. It was unlikely she'd have bought the excuse of "needing the Internet to do homework" from any other student on a Friday night.

The kerosene lamps threw a dim light over the cramped room, and looked somewhat at odds with the twelve brand-new Dell computers arranged at intervals, not to mention the printers, scanners, and Gaggia coffee machine that was hissing away in the corner. A stereotypically wart-nosed witch sat behind the bar, reading a romance novel, and glancing sourly in Hermione's direction every once in a while. Hermione was the only customer, and had the feeling the proprietor preferred business to be slow. She took another sip of her hazelnut mocha and considered, that as the only customers for an internet café in a town like Hogsmeade (where most of the inhabitants found the concept of electricity alien and puzzling) could be the odd commercial traveller or perhaps a few Muggle-born Hogwarts students at weekends, it was most likely a front for some sort of minor criminal operation. She shrugged her shoulders, made a mental note to ask Mundungus Fletcher about it next time she was at Grimmauld Place, and turned back to the screen.

In front of her in cold black and white was the symbol she had last seen emblazoned on Doris Sue Ethel's arm. It raised a number of interesting questions in Hermione's mind, but more importantly, it added weight to the tentative theory she had begun to form about Doris's mysterious background.

"So... what next?" she murmured to herself, catching a glare from the witch in the corner. She could write an email – but that might not get her an immediate answer, and she couldn't hang around the Internet caff much longer, not at nine Sickles per half-hour. The word _livejournal_, at the bottom of the screen, caught her eye. She could always... but was it really the right thing to do? After all, Doris Sue Ethel might not want Hermione poking her nose into her business. She seemed fairly happy at Hogwarts these days...

The tension in the air was palpable as Hermione slipped back in through the portrait hole and found a place – standing room only, against the wall - with Harry. The room, though crowded, was hushed – the onlookers seemed to be trying to breathe quietly.

Hermione saw where all the attention was focused – the work in progress at the centre of the Common Room. Doris was still perched on her high chair, surrounded by the team of cosmetics enthusiasts. Lavender Brown's face was tense, but she maintained her aura of control as she applied lip liner with a steady hand. However, Parvati Patil, out of Doris's line of vision, was the very picture of anguish, and at the front of the circle Dean Thomas and Ron were clutching each other's hands, white-knuckled.

"What'd I miss?" whispered Hermione as quietly as she could. Harry leaned over to her.

"It's not going well," he hissed. "Pansy and Cho tried the Avril Levigne look, but that was a disaster. Then they went for a more casual formal effect, but it all went horribly wrong. Cho panicked. They were nearly going to send for Dumbledore for a minute there, but Lavender calmed them down a bit. Now she's trying for something like Serena Grimsworthy on the cover of Witch Weekly – look..." as the magazine was passed down their way, "but Parvati doesn't look too hopeful..."

Hermione, who had passed Cho (in floods of tears) on her way up, could appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Glancing around, she could see the worry on the faces of the crowd, from Pansy and Dean at the front, to Lee and Angelina at the back. She noticed even Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley had turned up to show their support.

Lavender, at last, laid down her lip pencil. "All done!" she said brightly. Hands shaking slightly, she took Seamus Finnegan's shaving mirror and held it up to Doris so she could see the effect. "So, what do you think?"

The crowd held its breath. Doris peered at her reflection, inclining her head slightly to first the left and then the right, to examine the work from all angles. Then, realisation suddenly dawning, her mouth dropped open, and she looked at Lavender and Parvati in shock. Parvati, unable to stand the pressure any longer, clutched her fists to her mouth and ran out, sobbing.

"Well, there's always cosmetic transfiguration – "began Neville in an attempt to be helpful. Angelina clapped a hand over his mouth.

"It's awful!" cried Doris, tears running channels through the foundation on her cheeks. "What have you _done_ with my eyebrows?"

"Well," Lavender choked out, "at least – at least you don't have a monobrow any more." Her assistants looked at each other, and then nodded wildly at Doris.

"That doesn't help! Look at me! _Look at me!_ I'm hideous! Oh, it's awful!" Doris, by crying profusely and burying her face in her hands, had smeared the carefully applied makeup into something resembling a Halloween mask. It was a slight improvement. "I'm so ugly, I'm the ugliest creature alive, and Draco Malfoy will _never_ like me! I hate my life!"

Her audience was not going to allow this; they were already crowding around her and indignantly refuting her hysterical statements. "You are _not_ ugly," said Seamus Finnegan firmly, removing some of the worst smears of eyeliner with a baby wipe. "You are beautiful. On the inside. And if Draco Malfoy doesn't realise it, well, that's his loss."

"Exactly," said Dean Thomas, patting her on the head kindly. "I'll go put the kettle on and we'll all have a nice cup of tea." He then left, but the others, who were busy reassuring her that she was a lovely person and she had lots of friends, didn't notice.

Hermione, who had remained on the periphery, decided not to join them. A large group of concerned Hogwartsians could do a better job of comforting than she ever could. Besides, she thought to herself, her Friday Evening pass was still valid, and it was time she paid someone a little visit.


	8. Hermione Granger, Girl Detective

Hermione looked up at the huge stone door, illuminated by a flaming torch suspended high above her head, and then down at the address scrawled on the scrap of paper in her hand.

Yes, this had to be the place, all right - Unaccountably there were butterflies in her stomach, and she felt strangely hesitant at the sight of the imposing entrance. However, she couldn't stay out here all day, not with the raging sandstorm messing up her hair and filling her shoes with grit. Hermione lifted the heavy brass doorknocker, and banged on the door.

It swung open, and a Lesbian Minion appeared in the doorway. "Yes?"

"I'm here to see **pottersues**," said Hermione.

The Lesbian Minion looked her up and down, taking note of the "I Am So Smart With My Commas,,,,," t-shirt that Hermione had, after some careful research, decided to wear. "You'd best come in then," she said, standing aside to reveal a long hallway lit by more flaming torches. "Follow me." She took Hermione's cloak and led the way down the corridor.

They passed several doors along the way. At one door Hermione heard a scream of maniacal laughter; another was standing open, and inside Hermione could see Lesbian Minions stitching piles of t-shirts very similar to the one she was wearing. As she passed it she could hear the sound of a whip being cracked, and the low snarl of somebody being told to sew faster.

At the end of the corridor were two doors, one labelled "Suechives", the other blank. "Wait here," said the Lesbian Minion, and went through the unmarked door. Hermione, left alone in the dim corridor, found herself drawn towards the door marked "Suechives".

Going over for a closer look, she saw that a narrow vertical slit had been cut above the sign, like something a door in a medieval dungeon might have, so that warders could keep an eye on the prisoners. Looking around to make sure she was alone, she crept forward and pressed her eye to the slit.

Though it was dim inside, she could make out signs of movement. Straining to see further, she was startled as a shape gracefully flitted by, very close to the door. She jumped backwards into the arms of a Lesbian Minion.

"I wouldn't go in there, if I were you," said the Minion kindly. "You think it'd be confusing if you messed up with a Time-turner and accidentally met yourself? That's _nothing_ to what would happen if a genuine J K Rowling character happened to wander into the Suechives."

Hermione considered this for a moment, and then decided that the Minion was undoubtedly right.

"**pottersues** will see you now," said the first Minion, poking her head round the door. Hermione dusted the sand off herself as best she could, and went in.

The Mary-Sue guru sat on a throne of Hallmark cards, at the end of a very large, high-ceilinged room. On her lap was a kohlrabi that made faint squeaking noises as she petted it. Lesbian Minions bustled about – some seemed to be having a debate at the side of the room, some carried clipboards; one was up a ladder writing on a whiteboard suspended at the right hand of **pottersues**' throne. "Today's Music:" it read. Hermione watched as she added, "_I've Got a Brand-New Combine Harvester – The Wurzels_."

"So you're Hermione," **pottersues** announced. "Sorry about the mess; we're rather busy with the Golden Bubotubers at the moment. How may I help you?"

Hermione gave a brief summary of the situation with Doris Sue Ethel while **pottersues** listened, eyes narrowed. "That's all very tragic," she said when Hermione had finished, "but how does it involve me?"

"With all due respect, Your Lesbian Overlordship," said Hermione in exasperation, "there's no point trying to tell me you didn't put the Sarkasmius curse on Doris Sue Ethel. I knew the moment I saw the three eyeballs on Doris's arm that it was you! That curse always leaves the mark of the curser on the cursee. It's elementary DADA."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," said **pottersues** shrewdly. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a Muggle, so how was I supposed to have put a curse on your Sue – I mean, your friend?"

Hermione counted points on her fingers. "A: You just called her a Sue," she said. "You're the expert on Mary-Sues, so I'm guessing you know more about her than you claim. B: You have a castle on your live-journal page. Don't try to persuade me that this is an ordinary Muggle living room, because I'm not buying it. This place _screams_ to me that you have some powerful friends in the magical world, and I'm going to make a big leap, and guess that one of those friends is the Dark Lord himself."

At the mention of Voldemort, there was a commotion from the Lesbian Minions. Some gasped in horror, and a couple rushed over and took Hermione by the arms as if to throw her bodily from the building. The Lesbian Overlord stood up. "Stop!" she ordered. Hermione was released.

"Yes, fine, all right, I admit it was me," said **pottersues** testily, soothing her panicked kohlrabi. "Or rather, it was Voldemort doing me a small favour. You gotta understand," she said, almost pleading now. "She was a perfect example of everything that's bad about fanfiction! The perfect Sue! And she walked right into my Sue-trap, almost willingly... so, Voldemort delivered her to me, and we did the curse together. Okay, maybe we tortured her a little first."

"I don't care what you did," said Hermione authoritatively, "so long as you undo it."

"Can't," said **pottersues**.

"But you've got to!" cried Hermione. "If you only could see how miserable she is. She's really depressed over her looks, and if you ask me she's got some sort of hormonal problem with mood swings as well."

"Well, all teenagers have attractiveness issues," said **pottersues** airily. Looking at Hermione's bushy, sand-filled hair, she amended it to, "All teenagers that don't have to worry about saving the world from the forces of evil, I mean. She'll get over it. Besides, there's no counter-curse. You should know that, Miss Girl-Genius."

"There may be no counter-curse," said Hermione with determination, "but there is a way to reverse the spell, and I'm sure you know it. And you're going to help me, or I'll report you to the Ministry of Magic and have this place shut down. It's obviously illegal. And I might throw in an indictment for practicing inappropriate charms on a kohlrabi."

"You wouldn't!" said **pottersues** in horror. Her pet vegetable squeaked outragedly. Then, seeing that Hermione was totally serious, she said sulkily, "Fine, fine, I'll help."

"Excellent," said Hermione, rubbing her hands together.


	9. The Sue Returns

The atmosphere in the Gryffindor Common Room that Friday night could be described as doleful, perhaps even funereal. Much of the crowd that had gathered earlier to see the public makeover of Doris Sue Ethel had dispersed (mainly from embarrassment). However, Doris's close friends and the makeover team were still present. Their attempts to cheer her up had backfired, and now a general gloom lay over the group like a fog, as they sat around on armchairs and couches that had been pulled over for convenience.

Doris sat in a large armchair in a state of depressed apathy. Every now and again she would let out a loud sigh, which would set Parvati off crying again. Dean Thomas was perched on one of the arms of Doris's chair, holding her left hand and occasionally saying soothing things. Seamus, Padma, and Neville were seated on one couch, staring into space and working their way through a huge bag of tortilla chips. Ginny and Lavender were squashed into an armchair to the right of Doris, Ginny's head resting on Lavender's shoulder. Colin and Dennis Creevey were opposite them, in another armchair; Dennis was almost asleep. Pansy Parkinson sat on the floor, alternately giving Doris a pedicure and passing tissues to Parvati. The hour was late, but none of the assembled had the heart to get up and go to bed.

"You know, it's pathetic really," sighed Doris. "I don't even know what part of Basingstoke I'm from. I don't have a past. What kind of a wretched excuse for a person doesn't even have a past?"

Colin Creevey clucked indignantly. "_Lot_s of good people don't have pasts," he said. "Hey, lads, how about you? What primary schools did you go to, eh?"

There was a chorus of blank stares, and some head shaking. "See?" said Colin.

Ron had remained on the periphery of the group, occasionally opening his mouth to say something helpful, and then chickening out. Over the past half an hour he had thought of at least twelve intelligent, compassionate things to say, things that would immediately put a radiant smile on Doris's face and have the others all staring in admiration. So it was unfortunate that when Ginny said to him crossly, "Spit it out, Ron," all he could manage was, "I _like_ big feet on a woman."

Heads swiveled in his direction; Ron saw raw hostility and disbelief on eleven faces and added hastily, "Not that I mean to say your feet are big, of course. I mean, they're smaller than Dean's feet. Or, well, at least they're smaller than Harry's."

Doris's expression told Ron clearly that she was less than impressed with his oratorial skills. Seeing Ginny smack her palm to her forehead, he decided to throw caution to the winds.

"Doris," he said, climbing awkwardly over a couch, "there's something I need to say to you." Pansy Parkinson moved out of his way as he knelt down in front of her chair and took both her hands in his own.

"Yes, Ron?" breathed Doris. The others leaned forward in anticipation.

Ron hesitated. Though he'd turned the idea of confessing his feelings to Doris over in his mind many times, he had never come up with anything he was truly happy with saying – and certainly he had never imagined having an audience. He glanced down at the little, grubby, nail-bitten paws enclosed between his large hands.

"From the moment I saw you, Doris," he began, looking down. "I knew you were something special. I've felt this way about you for a long time, but it wasn't until last Friday's Potions class that I truly realised – you were so lovely, standing there with one arm in a cauldron of chicken entrails – Doris, I knew then that I loved you." He looked up into her glistening eyes. "Doris, I love you. Will you go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?"

Pansy Parkinson burst into tears as Doris replied proudly, "Yes, Ron, I'll go with you." Ginny, Lavender and Neville cheered, and even Dean and Seamus, swept up in the moment, exchanged a hug. "That was so beautiful," sobbed Parvati, passing the tissues back to Pansy.

"You kids knock it off," shouted Harry down the stairwell. "Some of us have Quidditch matches tomorrow." Nothing could dampen the celebratory mood in the Common Room, however, and Dean was just going upstairs to break open the case of Butterbeer he had saved for a special occasion, when Hermione burst in through the portrait hole.

"I've discovered where Doris is from!" she announced dramatically. There was a collective gasp. Ron jumped to his feet.

"Did I miss something?" added Hermione, noticing Ron's red face, and the fact that he and Doris were clutching each other's hands. "Never mind – I'm sure you'll want to hear about this first." She strode over to the fireplace, grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder, and flung it in. "Doris, I've found a witness who was present when you were put under a curse!"

**pottersues**' head appeared in the fireplace, looking tired. "Let's get this over with," she said. The spectators all crowded around, Doris and Ron pushing their way to the front, still hand in hand.

"Doris, the reason you're here – erm, like this – and you don't remember anything that happened before King's Cross Station – is that you're not Doris Sue Ethel Mildred Shrub, at all! Your name is Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katerina bint Esmonde, and you're not from Basingstoke – your true family are distantly related to the Russian royal family on one side, and on the other are pureblood wizards with a huge family estate in Cornwall."

Doris was speechless. She glanced up at Ron, who quickly interjected, "But who cursed her? And why would anybody want to?"

Hermione looked away from the head of **pottersues** and said, "Voldemort cursed her, Ron. Her was acting under orders from... well, that's not important right now. But _why_ – well, that's very important, and Doris, you should brace yourself as this might come as a shock."

The crowd was dead silent as Hermione announced, "Doris, you're a Mary-Sue."

"Doris is a _Sue_?" squeaked Pansy. "But how can that be, I mean she's – "

"She may not look like your conventional Sue," interrupted **pottersues **wearily, "but I can assure you, she is one. All the signs are there. For one, a major canon character is in love with her." Ron gulped. "Two: She's inspired some _very_ OOC actions." Pottersues looked hard at Pansy and Dean Thomas. "Three: everyone loves her. Madam Hooch let her off in the face of obviously criminal behaviour; even Professor Snape, I'm told, seems to like her. Besides that, her appearance is ludicrous, her background is mysterious, and her reason for being at Hogwarts is totally unexplained. It all adds up to one thing – she's a Mary-Sue, and nothing you can say or do can change that."

"So I'm – I'm a Sue?" said Doris, wonderingly.

Ron grabbed her by the hands again. "Yes, Doris, but you shouldn't let that bother you," he said urgently. "Look at what you've done for Hogwarts unity – Slytherins and Gryffindors all under one roof! I don't think it's ever happened before! And you know it doesn't change my feelings for you one bit..."

"Doris!" shrieked Padma Patil. "Your eyelashes! They're – they're lengthening!"

"And your tattoo's gone!" cried Dean. "And Doris, your hair, it's all... straight and glossy..."

Doris pulled off the hairy brown robes she had been wearing over her head, and the whole group (excluding pottersues) gasped when they saw what was underneath. Doris – or Naedine – was wearing a pair of flared indigo jeans very low on her slim hips, with a tight, long-sleeved red blouse that was unbuttoned low enough to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. Curving round her neck was a fabulous opal choker, and her wrists were bedecked with thin silver bangles that made an attractive clinking sound when she moved her arms. Around her waist was a silver chain that emphasised her slimness.

On her feet were Converse runners, and on her left hand she wore an antique sapphire-amethyst ring. Her hair was raven and cerulean and fell in waves to below her knees; her nose was long and aquiline; and her eyes were azure and cinnamon. As she stood, the congregation could see that she was nearly as tall as Ron.

"My name," she announced in a cool, clear voice, "is Naedine. Naedine Galadriel Serinity Katerina bint Esmonde, in fact."

"Can I go now?" asked **pottersues** from the fire.


	10. Well, Hogwarts Did Need Another MarySue

"Erm," said Ron, feeling that he ought to take charge of the situation, as everyone other than Doris/Naedine seemed to be stupefied. "That's very, er, nice..."

"Well, this is certainly a relief," pronounced Doris/Naedine, as she lay down Seamus's shaving mirror, in which she had been considering her perfect features. She smoothed down her already-smooth hair, and stood up. "What are you all staring at?"

The assembled Ravenclaws, Slytherins and Gryffindors attempted to formulate a sensible reply, but were unable to do so before Doris/Naedine moved onto more important things. "Somebody call Filch," she stated impatiently. "It's high time my trunk got here. Ginny, you can do it."

The redhead scuttled toward the portrait hole, but before she got there it opened, and Argus Filch huffed and puffed his way through, carrying an enormous trunk. With a grunt, he heaved it onto the floor.

"Found this a couple of minutes ago," he said. "Was sitting smack in the middle of the staffroom floor. Dunno how we didn't notice it. Well, I'll send a house-elf or two to bring it up to your dormitory later..." He stopped and stared at the "new" girl in their midst.

"Thank you, Argus," Naedine said charmingly, and snapped the locks on her trunk open. "I've been wanting this for a while now. Ooh, my CD player! And my cheese!"

Parvati Patil was the first to find her voice. "Erm, Doris, I mean, Naedine..."

"Yes?" said Naedine, swivelling gracefully around to face the group.

Looking at their awestruck faces, she laid a slim, braceleted arm around Parvati's shoulders and said kindly, "Now Parvati – all of you – I realise this will be a difficult change to get used to, but you must know that I'm really the same person as the Doris you all got to know and love – I'm just prettier, thinner, smarter and have better dress sense." She glanced around again, and then added impatiently, "What's the matter with you all? I personally feel this is an occasion to be celebrated..."

"Right you are, Dor-Naedine," gulped Dean Thomas, and ran upstairs for his Butterbeer. The others reacted in as celebratory a manner as they could, in their shell-shocked condition. Padma ran off to inform the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs of this latest development; Pansy went to tell the Slytherins. Fairly soon people began pouring in through the portrait hole, some with sandwiches and cake, others with hip-flasks of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. All were in their pyjamas, as by now it was two in the morning. Tables and armchairs were cleared out of the way, and fairly soon there were large numbers of people on the dance floor. Colin Creevey got a couple of nice shots of Naedine explaining to Ginny and Lavender how her CD player (which had been enchanted to play loudly without speakers) worked.

The sound of disco music pouring out through the opened windows of the North Tower soon drew more than just other students, however. Harry, who had stumbled downstairs with his quilt still wrapped around him, noticed Hagrid and Madame Hooch coming in through the portrait hole, and congratulating Naedine. Hermione noticed Harry's bemused look, and came over.

"What the hell is going on," he growled. Hermione quickly filled him in on the situation, which he accepted with the fatalistic air of one who was going to have to play a Quidditch match on two hours sleep the next day. At the end, she added nervously, "I'm not at all sure it was the right thing to do now, Harry! I mean, after all that Ron went through... you should have heard him, honestly, it was really touching... and now she doesn't seem at all interested..."

Indeed, Ron had been trying to get Naedine's attention for the past half-hour without success. As she posed, smiling winningly, for a photo with Professor Flitwick, Ron sidled up to her and shouted over the music, "Er, so are we still going to Hogsmeade, then?"

Naedine pouted. "Now you've ruined the shot, Ron," she said, earning him a glare from Colin before he walked off. Holding up a small compact, she began to freshen her makeup. "About Hogsmeade – we'll talk about it later, okay honey?" She blotted her lips, snapped the compact shut, and went off to talk to Lee Jordan. Ron was left dumbfounded.

"Ouch," winced Hermione; she and Harry had seen the whole thing from their vantage point at the side of the room. "I'll go over there and talk to him."

"Yeah, tell him hard luck from me," said Harry, yawning, "but I'm off to sleep in the Room of Requirement. Or the staff room. Or Slytherin House, if I can't find anywhere nearer. Night."

In his near-comatose state, Harry nearly walked into Dumbledore as he made his way out of the room. "Ah, Harry, good to see you." He offered Harry a cube of something speared on a toothpick. "Have you tried the Pepperjack? It's rather good! And I hear it's our Naedine's favourite cheese... well, night night then!" Humming along with "Funkytown", he drifted away.

Harry shook his head to clear it, and climbed out through the portrait hall into the blessed quiet and darkness of the hallway.

A/N: Last night I dreamed that Anne McCaffery liked my story (she mentioned it on her LiveJournal). Then she sent me to a writer's convention, where I was humiliated for coming in late by the evil woman in charge. It's a long shot, but Anne, if you're reading this, I'd appreciate a review. That goes for all you people too!


	11. Naedine Conquers Hogwarts

* * *

A/N To My Reviewers: Yes, I hate her too. She's meant to attract loathing; like Umbridge, only easier on the eyes.

The alarm clock shrilled. Harry disengaged his face from the soft downy pillows, rolled over, and switched it off. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he reluctantly threw back the super-soft Chudley Cannons duvet and climbed out of the cosy queen-sized bed he had spent the night in. His toes tingling as they came in contact with the deep-pile carpet, he padded his way across the heated floor and into the en-suite bathroom.

A cup of steaming hot chocolate was waiting for him by the side of the tub. Harry took a long bubble-bath, then dressed in the spotless Quidditch robes that were laid out on his now-made bed. Feeling refreshed and absolutely ready to take on the Ravenclaw team, he wandered down to the Great Hall for a spot of breakfast.

Hermione and Ron were in their usual places at the Gryffindor table. This morning, both had dark rings around their eyes, and Ron seemed to be pushing his porridge around in the bowl.

"Don't tell me _you've_ lost your appetite," said Harry in mock astonishment, as he took his space on the bench next to Hermione.

"You'd lose your appetite if yourn smurf wurdebgullow," Ron trailed off. He pushed his bowl out of the way and laid his head on his arms. Harry leaned over to check his temperature, but was reassured when he heard a faint snore.

"What Ron means to say," said Hermione, "is that the party went on until about an hour ago. Most of the school is in the same state. _You_ look well-rested, though," she added accusingly. "Where were you all night, huh?"

"Slept in the Room of Requirement," said Harry, smearing apricot jam onto a piece of toast. "It was fantastic. I think I might move in there." He glanced around at the rest of the school – those that had made it to breakfast, which was somewhat less than half. Many of those looked in a worse state than Ron and Hermione – including Professor Sprout, who was holding an ice-pack to her head, and Madame Pomfrey, who looked faintly green and covered her mouth with her hand as the kippers were passed down her end of the staff table.

Just as Harry decided the upcoming match would be a pushover, Naedine strode into the Hall, looking fresh and relaxed in snowy white robes. She briefly glanced over at the Gryffindor table as she slid onto the Ravenclaw bench next to Padma Patil, and began to nibble delicately at a bowl of melon and strawberries.

"Hey!" said Harry indignantly, causing Ron to sit up with a startled exclamation. "What the hell's she doing, schmoozing with the enemy? Doesn't she know we're about to play against them? Hasn't she any house loyalty?"

"She _is_ a Ravenclaw," explained Hermione tiredly. "After you left last night, they got the Sorting Hat down from Dumbledore's office. It was that, or play Spin The Bottle again. Turns out the Hat was muddled up, what with the curse and all. She moved out of my dorm this morning."

"Where did she get the fruit salad, that's what I want to know," grumbled Ron, poking at his devilled kidneys with his fork.

"Oh, and Harry," Hermione said nervously, "there's something you ought to know about the match..."

* * *

Harry strode off the pitch, Firebolt clenched in his hand, muttering to himself. The other players wearily followed as he entered the Gryffindor changing rooms and began to angrily remove his muddy robes

"Ravenclaw "guest" player, my ass. Firebolt 2000? Who does she think she's kidding? Downright bare-faced cheating." He stormed out again without pausing to remove any of the mud from his shoes. Angelina exchanged a glance with Katie Bell, but didn't have the energy to carry it further.

The match – obviously – had not gone well. Harry and the other Gryffindors had arrived early, and were throwing a Quaffle around as a warm-up, when Katie had looked up and spotted the Ravenclaws arriving. "Look!" she said, pointing. All were in the regulation Ravenclaw Quidditch uniform, except for Naedine, who was still garbed in her blazing white robes. Harry, who had to shield his eyes when he looked at her, had been prepared for her arrival – Hermione had warned him, after all. What he was not prepared for was her position.

"_Beater_?" he said dubiously, as the Gryffindors watched the Ravenclaws warming up in the air. "This isn't good. Not good at all. Our Beaters are cr... well, they're new at the job," he amended hastily. Sloper and Kirke pretended not to hear.

"Well," said Angelina hastily, "she's new, maybe she won't be any good." Harry shot her a dark look. "Or, well, maybe she'll get nervous and mess up. Hell, I don't know. We can always hope."

The Ravenclaw captain chucked the Quaffle directly at Naedine, who was facing in the opposite direction. Naedine whirled around, as though warned by some sixth sense, and, holding the bat in a two-handed grip, hit the Quaffle so hard that it flew off the pitch entirely and vanished into the Forbidden Forest. Tossing her hair proudly as her teammates cheered, she noticed the watching Gryffindors, aimed her broom downwards, and made a perfect landing directly in front of Angelina.

"Greeting," she said, offering a slim hand to the two Beaters. "I see you're all surprised to see me! Last night I mentioned I used to play for the Farthington-Stokely Flying Squirrels, and Noah Pyszczynski graciously offered to let me take his position for the upcoming match. You don't mind, do you?"

Ron gaped at the broom she now had tucked under her arm. "That's a Firebolt! But it's not like Harry's... what the hell?"

"It's a Firebolt 2000," said Angelina, stunned. "Those are still in the development process. How did you...?"

"My Daddy has some friends," said Naedine airily. "My, my, I see the spectators are arriving... not as many as I'd hoped, but I'm sure we'll give them a game to remember anyway, shan't we? Cheerio!" She fluidly leapt onto her broom and shot into the air.

The game was delayed for a few minutes as the Quaffle was retrieved from the Forest. Once it started, however, Harry wished it hadn't. It was quite embarrassing. Though Ron managed to block more than one goal, and the three Chasers slipped quite a few past the Ravenclaw Keeper, the two Gryffindor Beaters were having more trouble than usual. Naedine was a white blur, sending Bludgers in every direction, and Harry had to use some tricky manoeuvres to avoid being unseated at one point.

More worrying, however, was the fact that the Bludgers seemed to swerve away from Naedine. Kirke and Sloper put up a valiant fight, tearing round the pitch at high speed and outdoing everyone's expectations. Hermione, watching from the stands, said to Hagrid, "You can tell they've been training hard over the summer." However, their efforts to knock Naedine off her broom came to nothing – no matter how much force a Beater put behind his bat, the Bludger seemed to slow down and wander off aimlessly when it came to within a few feet of the Ravenclaw Beater. And when Harry made his amazing catch – being dragged through the mud for seventeen feet as he strained to reach the Snitch – he came up to find that Ravenclaw, scoring at the last second, were ten points ahead.

He was still angry at lunchtime when Dumbledore stood at from the Staff Table. "Congratulations to Ravenclaw at winning this morning's rather spectacular game!"

The booing from the Gryffindor table was altogether drowned out by the loud cheers of the other three houses. Dumbledore tapped the nearest water-jug with a fork, and the noise subsided.

"Ahem," he said. "As you all know Halloween is only a few weeks away. This year, we've decided to do something totally different from the usual Ball – this year, we're calling it the Halloween Hop!" He beamed out at the assembly of students. "Well? Don't you like it?"

A lone Hufflepuff raised her hand. "Yes?" said Dumbledore.

"And it's just the same as the Halloween Ball, with a different name?" she asked.

"Yes, of course."

Excited conversation broke out. The first (official) party of the year was always highly anticipated, and this "hop" was going to be no exception. Already Harry could see, out of the corner of his eye, various sixth- and seventh-year males wandering casually over to the end of the Ravenclaw table where Naedine was sitting. Ron looked depressed.

"Is it almost Halloween already?" said Hermione in confusion.


	12. A Big, Cheesy, HighSchoolStyle Hogwarts ...

A/N: Thanks very much to Lizai for pointing out that I'd downloaded the same chapter twice! I guess all this technology is just too much for me... anyway, this is the REAL Chapter Twelve. By the way, I've been informed by my beta that Professor Sinistra is female - I never figured out the Professor's gender one way or another. Can anyone confirm? But it doesn't really matter; just that if she's female you can expect some femmeslash in the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Halloween it was. The night of the dance, Harry stood in front of the mirror in the Gryffindor boy's bathroom, carefully attempting another shave. Earlier efforts had not been too successful, but he had high hopes for this one.

"I'm not going," Ron loudly announced from the doorway, causing Harry to jump and lacerate himself in a fairly serious manner.

He grabbed a handful of tissue to staunch the bleeding and hissed at Ron, "What the hell do you think you're doing, sneaking up on people like that?" Snarling with rage, he splashed essence of Murtlap on his face.

"Why the hell don't you do that by magic?" Ron asked, and went on without waiting for an answer, "I said I'm not going. I can't go. It'd be too painful." He crossed his arms over his chest and hunched over, leaning on the sink next to Harry.

Thoughtfully Harry removed the last of the shaving foam from his face, and considered Ron's predicament. It was true that the preceding weeks must have been truly awful for Ron; even Harry had found them a bit trying. After the ruinous Quidditch match, Naedine had become extremely unpopular with the members of her former house. This unpopularity didn't extend to the rest of the school, however. It seemed like not a day went by without a large bouquet of flowers being delivered anonymously to the Ravenclaw girl's dormitory, or a troupe of Rent-A-Cherubs serenading the Ravenclaw team as they practiced, or Naedine being given an award for excellence at Potions.

Hermione was working feverishly to keep her place at the top of the year, and only just succeeding. The strain was starting to show, as she demonstrated by hurling a large box of chocolates that had been misdirected to the Gryffindor Common Room out through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady wasn't pleased.

Besides Naedine's general odious perfection and broom skills, the Gryffindors had another reason to dislike her. Her treatment of Ron had gone from cold to outright unkind. He hadn't immediately given up hope, but after she began to go round arm-in-arm with a smirking Draco Malfoy on a regular basis, it really didn't seem likely he could ever win her back.

"Besides," he confided to Hermione, "I'm not that keen on Naedine at all. It's Doris I miss. It's just that sometimes, like that time she cried over the baby hedgehogs... sometimes, I can still see a bit of Doris in her."

Hermione was sympathetic, but didn't know how to comfort him. She felt quite unreasonably guilty at having helped break the curse, and was even tempted to see if it was one she could perform herself. However, after an unauthorised late-night session in the Restricted Section of the library, she was forced to admit defeat. The spell not only called for a high level of emotion, it required lots of practice. She didn't have any Mary-Sue test subjects, and frankly she couldn't seem to get herself worked up enough about slugs or chickens. Anyway, she didn't really know how she'd explain that she had re-cursed Naedine to Dumbledore, or the Sue's extremely wealthy and powerful parents.

So the Gryffindors restricted themselves to snide comments and practical jokes (none of which were notably successful). Now Harry, looking at Ron's sullen reflection in the mirror, said, "I know it's tough, mate, but do you want that little Ravenclaw b... er, wench, to know she's got the better of you? And for your information, I happen to get a closer shave this way."

"I don't care," said Ron hollowly. "Bad enough I have to see her every day in classes. I'm not putting myself through that voluntarily."

"It'll be good for you," said Harry encouragingly. "Getting out, enjoying yourself... I hear Dumbledore's got some famous band to play. Besides," he said coaxingly, "I noticed Padma Patil giving you the eye in History of Magic yesterday... you could be in luck, there."

"That's because she got hit in the face with an Engorgement Charm the class beforehand," said Ron, heavily. "They didn't quite sort out the facial swelling before they sent her off to Professor Binns. Her eyes were pointing in all different directions, all afternoon. Nah, it's no good. I'm not going." He turned and trudged out of the bathroom. Harry sighed, and combed some more Turtle Wax into his hair.

So in the end, it was just him and Hermione that left the Gryffindor Tower at eight that evening for the Halloween Hop. Waving goodbye to Ron, who was slumped in an armchair reading a Quidditch magazine, they climbed out through the portrait hole and headed for the Great Hall, passing a group of excited Hufflepuff first-years on the way.

As they got closer, they could hear the sound of a band warming up, and lots of people laughing and talking. Upon entering the Great Hall they saw that about half the school was already present, including Neville, Lavender and Ginny, who were standing by the long refreshment tables, drinking punch and eating crisps from bowls.

Neville greeted them as they came over. "Interesting décor, isn't it?" he said enthusiastically. "Don't know what it's meant to look like... what are those hoopy things? And it smells... I don't know... like rubber, or something?"

"It looks like the gym at the primary school I went to," said Harry. "Those are basketball hoops. Erm... it's like Quidditch, for Muggles. Actually, it's a _lot_ like a Muggle school gymnasium. I wonder what Dumbledore's up to?"

Hermione glanced around. There were balloons and crepe paper hanging on the walls, and the magical ceiling had been disguised, in favour of a more conventional flat one with hanging ventilation pipes. And disco balls. "Interesting," she agreed, taking a sip of punch. Students were still pouring in through the doors, but there was no sign of any raven-haired Ravenclaw beauty as yet.

A loud shriek came from the amplifiers in the corner, where the band were setting up. The men with guitars held their ears in pain. Beaming, Dumbledore hopped up onto the stage and grabbed the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "Welcome to Hogwarts' first ever 'High School Dance', the Halloween Hop!" He applauded loudly for himself, and was joined a little less enthusiastically by the students and teachers present.

"_Not_ one of his better ideas," Harry noticed McGonagall say privately to Hagrid.

"In the interest of good relations and understanding between the magical and non-magical communities," began Dumbledore, "this party is intended to let all you people know how Muggle students of your own age enjoy themselves! And so, I give you one of the world's most famous Muggle bands – REM!"

"Who?" asked Neville. Ginny shrugged.

"Name sounds vaguely familiar," said Harry. Hermione decided not to bother enlightening them.

"Hel_lo_, Massachusetts!" shouted Michael Stipe into the microphone. He looked a little confunded to Harry's eye. "Who do you love!" Not at all perturbed by the questioning stares and lack of any response from the crowd, the band launched straight into Man On The Moon. After a few moments the crowd decided that although they might look strange, the band were pretty okay, and within minutes there were hundreds of people dancing.

Hermione was teaching Neville and Ginny the Mashed Potatoes ("it's a kind of Muggle Dance") when Harry spotted movement outside in the corridor. Turning, he caught sight of Naedine, as she swept into the Great Hall with Draco on her arm.

There was something of a collective gasp. Most people stopped dancing and turned to stare. The band, however, noticed nothing, and continued to play, a fact that seemed to annoy Naedine a little. She swept her gaze across the ballroom, eyelashes seeming even longer than usual.

Naedine was dressed in a close-fitting wine-red gown that flared out just below her knees, to show layers of black net underneath. Her long hair was done up in an elaborate coronet and seemed to be draped with large diamonds. A stunning pink diamond pendant hung on a silver chain around her neck, and a red chiffon scarf was draped elegantly round her shoulders. Draco Malfoy, arm linked in hers, seemed unable to take his eyes off her, and the strain on his neck was beginning to show.

"Well, continue," she said silkily. "Don't stop just for little me!" She floated across the floor to a group of Slytherins, who immediately fetched her a chair and a cup of punch.

"That slut," hissed Lavender. "A _pink_ diamond with a _red_ dress? Don't get me started."

"Yeah," agreed Parvati, who had just joined them. "And that headdress? Who does she think she's fooling? _I _know cubic zirconia when I see 'em."

Naedine's head turned, and she gave the two girls a cold stare, before she stood, handing her wrap to Pansy Parkinson, and sauntered over to the Gryffindors by the refreshments. Neville left at what was almost a run, muttering something about having promised Luna Lovegood a dance.

"So good to see you, Harry, Hermione, Ginny," she purred, turning her back on Lavender and Parvati. "Are you enjoying yourselves? Hermione, what a charming little ensemble – that shade of blue really complements your eyes... my my, are they the _same_ robes you wore to the Yule Ball two years ago?"

"You weren't even there!" squeaked Parvati indignantly.

Hermione looked flustered. "Well... what's the point of having a nice set of robes, if you're only going to wear them once?"

Naedine broke out into a tinkling laugh that sounded like crystal-clear water hitting the attractively-placed stones at the bottom of a well-designed waterfall. "Oh, my dear girl," she said, "that's so funny. You really are a very amusing person, Hermione! Oh, I must tell Pansy..."

Naedine glided back to the Slytherins, leaving the four Gryffindor girls speechless with rage. Harry felt he should commiserate, but didn't know quite what the problem was.

"So, what's wrong with wearing the same outfit twice?" he asked ingenuously.

"NOTHING," roared Ginny, startling them all, including herself. The others were too incensed to make much of it, however – Parvati and Lavender were still unable to articulate more than, "Hmph!" and "That... ooh, that girl..."

"It's more the principle of the thing," said Ginny, more calmly. "She insulted Hermione and disguised it as a compliment. It's your fault though," she said, turning on Parvati and Lavender, "you shouldn't have insulted her from this close, you know she's got super-efficient hearing."

Hermione, seeing that there was going to be words, left them to it, and wandered over to the other side of the hall. Harry followed her. As they approached the stage, they saw Neville, with a very confused Luna in his arms, emerge from behind a large group of tall seventh-year Hufflepuffs, where he had been hiding. He waltzed Luna over to them, using her as a sort of human shield.

"Is it safe?" he whispered, looking around.

Despite the cheerful atmosphere and the excellent music, neither Harry nor Hermione enjoyed the Hop much after that. Half an hour's time found them back propping up the punch table, sighing and checking their watches, and keeping one eye on the corner where Naedine and her new friends were. Hermione was just considering inventing a five-foot arithmancy essay as an excuse, when a girl in a Laura Ashley dress, with her hair in two plaits, wandered over to them.

"Excuse me," she said, looking a little tearful, "I think I'm at the wrong Halloween Hop. Have you seen Kristy? Or Claud?"

"Who?" said Harry.

The girl, who looked like a third-year, said, "Never mind. Only I told Logan I'd meet him out the front, but I can't seem to find the way out of this gym. And," she leaned forward nervously, "there's some kinda weird-looking people here."

Hermione pointed to Professor McGonagall, and said, "If you're in the wrong place, she'll probably be able to help you out." The strange girl wandered off and was blocked from Hermione's view as a conga line came by.

"If you ask me," said Harry, "I think Dumbledore's high-school thing's gone a bit too far."

"You're probably right," agreed Hermione. "My God, what the _hell_ are they doing?"

Harry looked over to where she was pointing. Naedine and Draco had claimed the centre of the floor and were dancing in a revoltingly intimate sort of way.

"That's a new dance," said Harry, eating a crisp. "They call it Pepperjacking. I agree with you, it's a little excessive."

The rest of the school didn't seem to think so, however, and before long there were numerous couples on the dance floor, following Draco and Naedine's lead. When Professors Sinistra and McGonagall Pepperjacked by the refreshments table, Hermione decided she'd had enough.

Climbing up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower, she fell over a warm fuzzy thing. Illuminating her wand, she realised it was Ron in his dressing gown, sitting hunched over on the steps.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, sitting down beside him.

"Sometimes I like to sit in the dark," Ron mumbled. "Turn that light out."

Hermione did as he asked. "You're not still moping over that Sue, are you?" she asked. "Trust me, she's not worth your while." She thought of the slight she had received earlier, and burned with rage again. "I _much_ preferred her alter ego, unhygienic though she might have been."

"I know that," said Ron, and sighed heavily. "Hermione, isn't there anything you can do? You're so good at this stuff, and... I know it wouldn't be strictly legal... but..."

"When were _any_ of our adventures strictly legal?" Hermione finished for him, and put an arm round his shoulders. "I'll see what I can do."

She stood up and brushed herself off, thinking hard. It wasn't going to be easy, and she had already ruled out doing the curse herself, but Hermione had a couple of shots left in her locker. Turning around, she headed up the stairs to her dormitory and donned her Bitchiwitch baseball shirt.


	13. Back To Ye Olde LiveJournalle

But this interview with **pottersues** didn't go nearly as well as the first. To her great annoyance, Hermione had arrived to find a notice pinned to the imposing front door:

This Building Has Officially Been Declared A National Magical Heritage Site By Order of the Ministry of Magic. On A Totally Unrelated Matter, Many Thanks to **pottersues** For Her Kind Donation to the Department of International Magical Co-operation, Magical Trading Standards Division. Signed, Cornelius Fudge.

"Rats," said Hermione under her breath. Now she was going to have to be persuasive, and being persuasive wasn't something that came naturally to her. She preferred to have the upper hand in any sort of bargaining situation. Blackmail and threats were more her kind of thing. And this was her last chance, too, as she had realised when she checked her email back at the Gilded Keyboard.

From: 

Re: a small favour

Dear Hermoine,

OMG, WTF? you want my help now?? well first of all, you can tell that pottersues bitch im not speaking to her nemore. second, it's a bit rich of you to ask me to do you a "small favour" when you and your damn friends are, like, a CONTINUAL thorn in my side and keep spoiling my plans for world domination and the destruction of dumbledore and mudbloods and so on and so forth. third, im not best pleased to hear you broke my sarkasmius, it was a pretty nice bit of spellwork and i was quite proud of it. but you people have no respect for the way i mite feel about stuff nowadays, have you.

so just remember, next time i run up against your boyfriend, im dealing with you FIRST, gotcha? and i am so sending spam to your stupid twee little email address.

Yours,

Voldemort

PS POTTERSUES SUXX

Oh well. It had been a long shot.

Now, however, it was even more important to get **pottersues** on her side, especially as there was a blizzard out, and **pottersues** wouldn't let her in.

"Go away," she shouted through the letterbox.

"_Please_?" said Hermione wheedlingly, shifting her feet up and down, trying to keep them from getting frostbitten.

"_No_," said **pottersues**. "God, you canon kids, you make me sick. Five full-length novels and one hundred fifty-two thousand three hundred and ten pieces of fanfiction, and you think the world _owes_ you! Well I don't owe you anything, and I'm not helping your stupid Sue to re-Sue herself or de-Sue herself or whatever it is you want." Hermione could hear the sound of an angry kohlrabi barking on the other side of the door. "Besides, you _know_ I can't do it by myself. And Voldemort's been pissed off with me ever since I sporked that fic he wrote about his so-called "daughter". God, how was I to know! What were the chances?!" She sighed. "No, I can't help you, and I wouldn't if I could. You might as well go."

Hermione decided to have one last try before giving up. With numb fingers she removed several pages from her pocket and stuck them through the letterbox. "Will you review my fic?" she asked, pleadingly. "It's a witty expose of what _really_ goes on in the Common Room -"

The sound of paper being shredded by a rabid vegetable met Hermione's ears. A small flurry of confetti whirled out through the letterbox. "No," **pottersues** barked, "I won't. I'm not interested in parodies, and I don't take requests! Read the FAQ! Now get out of here, before I set the aubergines on you!"

Deciding she had done all she could, Hermione turned and trudged away into the snow.


	14. A Dramatic Exit

Ron, who had been slouched in an easy chair gazing into the fire, sat up eagerly as he saw Hermione climb in through the portrait hole and dust the remaining snow off her shoulders. He slumped back down, however, as he saw her ruefully shake her head.

"No good," she said. "Sorry, Ron."

"Oh well, at least you tried," he replied, trying to sound grateful. Hermione pulled up an armchair of her own and offered him the bag of Pick-And-Mix she had stopped in Hogsmeade for on her way home.

"There's some new ones in there," she said. "Honeydukes were open late, showing a troupe of potential investors from Luxembourg their latest stock. Those bright blue ones are for Halloween – they turn you green, or you grow fangs. Try one."

As everybody else was still out at the Hop, Hermione and Ron had the Common Room to themselves. They were still there, thoughtfully eating sweets by the fire, when Harry staggered in through the portrait hole.

"Harry!" said Hermione with some difficulty. "You're in early."

"What's the matter?" asked Ron. "You look like you accidentally drank a bottle of Hagrid's home-made Firewhisky."

Harry was indeed so shell-shocked that he had failed to noticed Ron's long curly horns, or Hermione's impressive set of sabre-toothed mandibles. "Went to... Room of Requirement," he said faintly. "Professor Sinistra... McGonagall... scented candles... mood lighting... soft music... I don't want to talk about it."

"Ouch," said Hermione in sympathy. A small jet of flame emitted from her nostrils. "Have a sweet, they'll make you feel better. Or, different, at least."

"No thanks," said Harry. There was a haunted look in his eyes. "I feel nauseous. I'm going to drink that sleeping draught Madame Pomfrey whipped up for Neville and hope it knocks me out. Night." He made his way slowly up the stairs, leaning heavily on the rail.

Hermione turned back to Ron. "You think _you've_ got problems," she said meaningfully.

"I see what you mean," said Ron. "Poor bloke." A neat black goatee was sprouting on his chin, and his ears were in the process of becoming longer and pointy. He offered her the bag again. "Bonbon?"

* * *

Hermione was a little nervous as she came downstairs to breakfast the next morning. Not all the effects from last night's sweets had worn off, and she wasn't sure of the reaction she'd get. However, on her arrival in the Great Hall (which had been restored to its former glory), she found that most students were too sleepy after their late night to even look twice at her. Professor Flitwick was the only one that noticed.

"Excellent sideburns, my dear," he complimented her, a little wistfully. "I grew a pair myself, back in the seventies, but they were nothing like as bushy as yours."

"Er, thank you, Professor," Hermione muttered, taking a seat next to Ginny, who passed her the toast.

"How was the dance?" she asked, buttering. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"You didn't miss anything," she replied. "Nothing good, anyway. Except for when Dumbledore did a big dance solo in the middle of the floor, splits and all. That was amusing enough. No, mainly it was, 'Naedine, you're so fabulous, isn't Naedine stunning, Naedine, will you marry me?'" She sighed in disgust. "When Michael Stipe asked for her autograph, that was enough as far as I was concerned. Me and Luna and Neville took some bottles of Butterbeer and went down by the lake and had a bubble-blowing contest. Some of the bubbles are still down there, I think. The giant squid seemed to like them. What'd you get up to? You left early."

"Nothing important," said Hermione, pulling her hair over her ears. "Pass the orange juice there, will you?"

As Hermione was on her second cup of coffee and reading the Daily Prophet, Harry and Ron entered the hall and took the seats nearest her. Harry looked pleasantly dreamy.

"I worked a Memory Charm on him," Ron leaned across the table and hissed at Hermione. "Not a very good one, I'm afraid, but hopefully it'll hold for a while. He was having nightmares and keeping everybody awake." He ladled himself out a bowl of porridge, and then got another for Harry, who didn't seem aware there was breakfast available, and was staring enthralled at a spoon.

Hermione laid down her paper and sighed. "I think you overdid it slightly," she said. "Oh well, at least he got himself dressed okay." She took the spoon out of his hands, and mimed eating the porridge, to the amusement of the Hufflepuffs at the next table. Harry stared blankly at her. "Mmm, porridge! Nice porridge, Harry... nah, Ron, this isn't going to work." She took a spoonful of the cereal and aimed it at Harry. "Here comes the Hogwarts Express... choo choo choo choo!"

It was while Harry was obediently allowing Ron and Hermione to take turns feeding him, that a noise could be heard from the Entrance Hall. The screams and thumping noises were definitely coming closer, and most of the people eating breakfast broke off their conversations and turned towards the door enquiringly.

"MORE!" shouted Harry, pointing at his mouth. Hermione, who had become distracted, hurriedly put another spoonful of porridge there, just as Argus Filch strode in the door with a screaming, kicking, and biting Naedine in his arms. His cat followed him.

"Sir!" he bellowed, grabbing the girl's arms as she attempted to poke his eyes out. "I found her in your office, going through your desk! Then she called me a filthy name and tried to put a hex on me!" He held up a beautiful 11-inch mahogany-and-Manticore-sinew wand that had been snapped in two. "I had to stop her, sir!"

"That'll do, Argus, thank you," said Dumbledore calmly, wiping his mouth with a napkin and standing. "Put her down, there, and we'll talk about this in my office-"

"But sir, look!" Filch, knowing he had the attention of the entire school, grabbed Naedine's arm with a flourish and rolled up her lacy black sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark.

A collective gasp was heard. Harry grabbed the (empty) pumpkin-juice jug next to Ron and put it over his head. Naedine struggled out of Filch's grasp and stood up, rearranging her robes and giving a look of proud disdain to the assembled school.

"Yes," she proclaimed, "it's true. I _have_ become a Death Eater! Though you may have interfered with my plan this time, Squib," she said, giving Filch a look that caused him to flinch, and Mrs. Norris to hide behind his legs, "you may rest assured that once I've joined my master, you will never have any power over me again."

She crooked a finger, and her broken wand floated out of Filch's hand and into her own. Frowning as she examined the break, she scrunched up her beautifully modelled features and horked up a large mouthful of phlegm onto the wand, which healed itself.

Looking around at the enthralled and disgusted faces of the onlookers, she said in irritation, "Well, wandless magic may not be very pretty, but I'd like to see any of you do it!"

Smoothing her hair down, she tucked her wand into her pocket and turned to Dumbledore, who remained motionless at the staff table. Calmly she said, "So now I take my leave of you, old Muggle-loving fool, and go to join the Dark Lord."

"That doesn't make a lick of sense," Hermione groaned, quietly, to Ron.

"But first," Naedine added, glowering with fury, "I'm going to get even with that grammarconsciouspossum _bitch_ for what she said about me."

"Go ahead," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I think you'll find leaving Hogwarts isn't as easy as you anticipate."

Naedine laughed, an evil laugh that Hermione realised she'd overheard her practising in one of the girl's toilets. "Oh no? Well, your pathetic enchantments may serve to restrain this bunch of remedial candidates, but _I_ have my Apparition License! So there!" In a flash, she was gone.

Hermione lost it completely. "HOW MANY TIMES?!" she howled, hurling a plate at the spot Naedine had just left. "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT? YOU - CAN'T – DO – THAT – IN HOGWARTS!" She fell to the floor, gasping and hiccupping, and had to be revived by Ron and Harry (who had regained his wits just in time). The onlookers, delighted at this new turn of events, crowded round.

"Calm yourself, my dear Miss Granger," said Dumbledore kindly, seating himself again and polishing his spectacles. "You are indeed correct about the rules regarding Apparating. Anybody who attempts to do so within the grounds of Hogwarts finds themselves locked in a broom cupboard in the West Tower. In fact, Argus, Hagrid, Professor Flitwick, if you'd be so good as to pop over there now... oh, and take some of the stronger house-elves with you, if you don't mind. And some chains."

Hermione fainted.


	15. You Can't Kill A Sue

"Stress," grumbled Madam Pomfrey as she let Harry and Ron into the infirmary. "Sheer stress. We get a lot of similar stress-related incidents around the NEWT and OWL time of year. Now, you two are to keep an eye on Hermione in future, and make sure she doesn't overdo it again."

She handed Hermione a cup of herbal tea, and said to the two boys, "Half an hour, and then you two are to leave. She's supposed to be having complete bed rest for today - no reading, no running around saving the world."

Hermione, who was sitting up in bed, waited until Madam Pomfrey had bustled away, and guiltily removed "NEWT Level Potions, Vol 1 – _Aarhus's Philtre to Necromancy_" from under her pillow.

"Hide that under those robes over there, will you?" she said, passing the heavy book to Ron. "And don't talk to me about stress. I'm absolutely fine. There's nothing wrong with me, but try telling Madam Pomfrey that. I even cut down my evening study from four hours to three and a half, last week."

"_Sure_ you did," said Ron. "Can't fool us. Lavender says you stay up late reading things under your quilt with your wand, and I'm willing to bet they're not romance novels. What do you think, Harry?"

"So Hermione's a workaholic," said Harry impatiently, "and we're to make her cups of tea and massage her feet for her, fine, fine, what else is new. Hermione, aren't you interested in what happened after you left?"

"Yes, of course," replied Hermione hastily, glad of a change of subject. "So Naedine got stuck in a broom closet?"

"Fought like a madwoman, too," Harry said enthusiastically. "Flitwick was in here having his nose repaired after they finally managed to haul her out. By the way, Madam Pomfrey gave him your sideburns. Didn't think you'd mind."

Hermione clapped her hands to the sides of her face, and, finding that everything was normal, said, "That's fine. Go on."

"Well, they sent for the Ministry of Magic," Harry continued. "They've been upstairs for a while now – she's imprisoned in a reinforced room in the West Tower. Don't know what they're planning on doing with her."

"Azkaban?" put in Ron hopefully.

Hermione snorted. "They don't send people to Azkaban for getting dodgy tattoos, claiming to have joined the Dark Side, and generally being bratty teenagers," she said. "Else they'd have to extend the place just to hold all the little Gothic prisoners. I reckon it'll be some sort of juvenile detention... restricted magic use... counselling, that sort of thing."

Ron looked disappointed. "How'd she manage to join the Death Eaters anyway?" he asked. "Didn't You-Know-Who have a hand in cursing her?"

"Well... Sarkasmius can be a little confunding. I doubt she remembers the curse being performed on her. You-Know-Who probably thought it was amusing to have somebody he'd put a curse on working for him – and another inside agent at Hogwarts, too. But I still don't know how she managed to contact him, or get the Dark Mark."

"I heard," said Ron, "that she was talking to him with that Muggle Floo powder-type thing, you know, the one they use to send letters and stuff."

"The Internet?"

"Yeah, that's it. Dad's been trying to get it installed at the house, but he hasn't been able to, yet. Apparently, you need to have a compuper first."

"Compu_ter_," Harry corrected. "Dudley had the Internet. He always has the latest gadgets and gizmos. I used it for homework during the summer, sometimes, when he was out. I Googled myself, once. You ever try it, Hermione? You wouldn't believe how many Harry Potters there are out there with websites. Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that... there's a movie, too."

Hermione looked from one boy to the other. "Well," she said weakly, "it's a common name..."

Harry, however, had moved on to what he considered a more important subject. He came over and sat on the bed, and with a lowered voice, said, "I heard – Susan Bones told Hannah Abbott who told Lavender – they might be going to use the Sarkasmius on Naedine again."

"You're _joking_," said Hermione in an almost horrified tone. "They're cursing a student? For being rebellious?"

"Well, she was trying to join Voldemort, wasn't she? She was feeding him information from inside Hogwarts, and they caught her going through Dumbledore's _desk_! You think she'd get off with just a slap on the wrist? Not likely. You know Fudge, he likes making an example of people, and with a Death Eater in his grasp – or, at least a potential Death Eater – well, he's not going to let the opportunity go to waste. And, you know she's pretty harmless when she's cursed..."

"When she's _Doris_," added Ron, faintly.

The other two fell silent.

* * *

Professor McGonagall hurried down the hallway as fast as possible, snapping "Out of my way!" at a group of second years that happened to be in her path. Hoping that Fudge and Dumbledore were still in the last place she'd seen them, she threw open the door of the staff room. However, its only inhabitant was Professor Snape, who was critically examining the centrefold of the newly reconfiscated _Wenches_ magazine. He dropped it quickly and grabbed the nearest available book ("Gadding With Ghouls", which happened to be upside down) as a guilty flush spread across his face.

"Er," he said. "There was an article about the effects of a particular potion... er, no, I mean..."

"I know the one," barked McGonagall. "Illegal in every first-world country except Ireland. Have you seen Dumbledore? It's urgent."

"They went off towards the Entrance Hall..." Snape trailed off as McGonagall disappeared from the doorway, moving at quite a clip for a woman of her age.

She caught sight of the two gentlemen as they were just heading out the front door. "Albus!" she called, short of breath. Dumbledore turned.

"She's gone!"

* * *

"She _tunnelled_ out," said Professor McGonagall, still disbelieving. "I have no idea how she did it. For heaven's sake, that's why we put her all the way up here in the first place!"

The three of them surveyed the horrible mess that was the West Tower. "Ye gods," said Fudge, and mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief. "And... is it like this, all the way down?"

"Unfortunately so," replied McGonagall. "It'll take weeks to fix; plus she managed to destroy all the plumbing in the Arithmancy department."

"Did she have help? She must have had... _something_, I mean, look at it!"

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a stream of yellow "WARNING! DO NOT CROSS!" tape emerged. He closed off the damaged sections of floor, and dusting off his hands, said briskly, "Well, there's nothing to be done about it now."

"She's long gone by this stage," McGonagall added. "Stole Madam Hooch's broom. We called the local Muggle airfield at once, and apparently she was headed north – not that that's much help."

"For what it's worth, Cornelius," Dumbledore said to the flabbergasted Minister, "I don't think she had help. She seems to take all the credit herself, anyway." He produced a piece of thick, scented parchment from a pocket of his robes. A dainty italic scrawl read:

_Dear Dumbledore,_

_Did you think your puny tower could hold me, Naedine Galadriel Serenity Katerina bint Esmonde? By the time you read this, I'll be long gone, but don't worry, all my memories of dear Hogwarts are fond ones. Ha!_

_I'm leaving to join my master and one true love, and nothing you or any of your pathetic Ministry friends can do will stop me achieving my goal. Oh, by the way, please keep my trunk and all my possessions safe – ask a house-elf to store them properly, with lavender sachets only – and I'll be back to collect them, some day. When it's my school! LOL!_

_Lots'n'lots of luv and kisses, from your_

Naedine xxx 

Fudge turned to Dumbledore. "And how do you explain how this – this girl – managed to escape from a reinforced, guarded room in the most carefully protected building in the wizarding world, under the very nose of Albus Dumbledore, the world's most revered mage?"

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders. "Cornelius, I'm as much in the dark as you. The only thing I could say at this point is that it's true, what they say about Mary-Sues – they really _don't_ obey the laws of magic. Or for that matter, logic."

Fudge considered this for a moment, and then, with a sigh, placed his bowler hat firmly on his head. "You may be right there," he said, clapping Dumbledore on the back. "Minerva, Albus – it's been a long day. Let's go for a pint."


	16. Or Can You?

Naturally, it wasn't long before the news got out. Depending on whose story you had heard, Naedine had become a dragon Animagus, burned down the West Tower with her fiery breath, and escaped, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake; or, she had seduced Madam Hooch and persuaded the teacher to unlock the door and loan her a broom; or a troop of Dementors had invaded the school, Kissing both Filch and Professor Vector on their way up to the tower, and carried Naedine bodily away to the secret location where Dementor orgies were held.

Despite the fact that Filch and Vector remained visibly un-Kissed, there was a total absence of a trail of destruction, and Madam Hooch was busy cursing the "little thieving miscreant" at every opportunity, rumours continued to abound. Harry was particularly annoyed by the claim that he, blinded by Naedine-lust, had assisted her in her escape with the help of Polyjuice Potion, and had been beaten black and blue by Fudge's walking stick when the enraged Minister found him locked in Naedine's cell.

Hermione, who wasn't all that surprised by Naedine's daring escape, said that it was a perfectly normal response to the sudden departure of a Sue. "The first stage is Disbelief," she announced, her nose in a heavy library book. "The second is Wild Speculation. After a certain length of time, the effect of the Sue wears off, and people gradually begin Stage Three: Denial That Anything Was Different Or Strange. It's all here in _Common Magical Delusions and Psychological Ailments_."

Indeed, less than two days after the Sue had flown the coop, Harry had overheard Draco loudly telling Crabbe and Goyle that he didn't have a clue what Blaise Zabini had thought was so special about Naedine, anyway. Dean Thomas had discreetly removed his copies of _Vogue_ magazine from beside his bed, and had replaced them with _Footballer's Weekly_. Pansy Parkinson had even been observed calling Cho Chan "skanky". Yes, Stage Three had certainly set in, and life seemed to be returning slowly to normal.

The lull following the departure of Naedine was soon to be disrupted, however, upon the discovery of some shocking news.

On the morning after Hermione had been released from the hospital wing, she happened to be early down to breakfast. There were very few people in the Great Hall, and no Gryffindors at her table at all. Greeting Hagrid (the only teacher present) with a cheerful "Morning", she took a seat, pleased to have a few minutes of quiet to read yesterday's Daily Prophet. (It had been misdirected to "Hermoine Granger" and had only arrived in her dormitory at half past eleven the previous evening.)

The headlines weren't all that interesting, so she briefly skimmed the articles on the front page (in case there happened to be a current events quiz in any of her classes that day) and turned to page two. Glancing over an article about the Hogsmeade Amateur Dramatics Society, she took a mouthful of tea; then, seeing the next headline, spat it out again all over her newspaper. A group of wizards in Shakespearian dress jumped squealing out of the way as their photo was drenched in hot liquid.

"What're yeh up to, Hermione?" Hagrid said curiously. He had been making his way out the door, whistling, but now came over and looked over her shoulder at the newspaper. Hermione, shell-shocked, handed it to him.

_**Teen You-Know-Who Supporter Flies To Fiery Death**_

_Residents of the village of Ayresconeff were roused from their beds at four o'clock last Saturday morning, to be greeted by the horrifying spectacle of their local community centre burning down to the ground. Muggle police and fire departments were alerted, and attempts were made to contain the fire (first believed to be a work of arson). However, when a charred Cleansweep 105 was discovered on the premises, Jeffrey Chakravarty of the Muggle Liaison Unit (Scotland Yard) was called in._

_Last night the police released a statement to the magical journalistic community, which states that the fire has been established as certainly magical in origin, and occurred when the owner of the broom lost control and crashed into the building. The presence of residual magical compounds (including two poisons that were made illegal by the Dangerous Substances Act of 1773) indicates the cause of the fire. "Upon impact, the bottles that were being carried by the rider of the broom must have smashed," stated Dr Serena Smiggs, of the Magical Forensics Department. "When the highly inflammable contents mixed, they inevitably ignited. A magical blaze like that would have spread from basement to attic within a few minutes." _

_Scotland Yard has also denied claims that the body of a young girl was removed from the burnt-out building. However, it has been confirmed that the broom belonged to one Madam Hooch, of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and had been stolen by a former student who disappeared last week. Nadine bint Esmonde was reported by our source inside the school as having single-handedly burnt down an entire wing of the school building, before escaping with a large sum of money in Galleons, to "join Lord You-Know-Who, her mentor and true love". Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall refused to comment on the situation; however, the influential Esmonde family have launched an appeal for information on their daughter's whereabouts, and have offered a substantial reward for anyone who can cast light on the situation._

_Mrs. Esmonde, in her appeal, tearfully denied accusations that her missing daughter had joined the Dark Side, insisting that Naedine was just "highly strung"._

"Ere!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Are they talking about that lass that used to like to come down to my garden and do a bit o' muck-spreadin'?"

Hermione, who was finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that Doris had met her demise at the same time as Naedine, swallowed hard and said, "Yes, well sort of."

"Blimey," said Hagrid fervently. He sat down on the edge of the table, causing it to lurch alarmingly, and took a flask out of his pocket. Taking a long swig, he then absently passed it to Hermione, who did the same without thinking.

Other people were now starting to trickle in to the hall, and the news was visibly spreading. Many people got the Daily Prophet delivered; there was already a group of first-year girls sobbing at the Slytherin table. By the time Harry and Ron had arrived, there was a buzz of hushed discussion of the article circulating in the hall.

Harry took one look at Hermione's face, and grabbed the Daily Prophet out of her hands. Scanning the newsprint, he whistled loudly. "Ouch. Well... we all knew she'd gone bad... but still, didn't expect this! I mean, I thought she'd make a great Death Eater! And wow, that must have been pretty unpleasant, I mean burning up like that..."

"Now Harry," Hagrid objected hastily, "we're not sure it was her body. In fact, the Prophet's sayin' it _ain't_ her!"

"They didn't even spell her name right," said Ron, face devoid of expression, and turned and walked slowly out of the hall.

Hagrid and Hermione looked at one another. "Harry, you could have been a _little_ more tactful..." Hermione ventured. She looked pointedly in the direction Ron had just taken.

"Go talk to Ron," agreed Hagrid.

"You're the one that's good at this emotional stuff!" Harry grumbled to Hermione, but got up and headed for the stairs anyway, passing on his way Cho Chang and Pansy Parkinson, sobbing in each other's arms.

In their dormitory, Ron was sitting on his bed, head in his hands, but looked up as he heard Harry enter the room. To Harry's relief, he didn't seem to have been crying.

"Listen, Ron, I really am sorry to hear about..." Harry began. Ron waved a hand at him to stop talking.

"Yeah, yeah. S'allright. That Naedine girl was a pain in the ass anyway." Ron's voice was rough, and Harry knew that his callous attitude was a front. He felt terribly sorry for Ron, and was about to suggest a game of wizarding chess as a displacement activity, when a better idea occurred to him. He sat down on the bed next to Ron.

"You know, it seems as though it was only yesterday Doris was beating the snot out of Malfoy," he began. Ron smiled at the recollection, and became a little teary.

"I think we should make a tribute to Doris," Harry announced. He stood up and placed his hand over his heart. "Doris Sue Ethel Mildred _Gladys_ Shrub may have left Hogwarts, but her spirit remains alive as long as we, her fellow Gryffindors, remember her and honour her excessively long name."

"Hear hear," said Ron, blowing his nose loudly.

"Pansy Parkinson let slip the Slytherin password to Dean when they had that manicuring session last week," Harry added. "Want to go smear some chicken entrails in Malfoy's bed?"

Ron stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket and stood up. "You know, Harry," he mused, "I think Doris would have wanted it that way."

* * *

Thank you very much to all my readers and reviewers. You're great! Also thanks must go to my long-suffering beta Tethys; and the good people at Pottersues's livejournal - Lesbian Minions and Suethors alike. And of course, Pottersues herself - released at last! Inspiration was never short on the ground, I can tell you.

Liked "Please Don't, Sue"? Am working on a new fiction (working title "Civil Servant of the Dark Lord") about a character you all know and love. Or, at least, know. Reviews would be _particularly_ welcome. (Hint hint. Hint.)

Mwa!


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